


The Road To Ruin

by madsshine



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, M/M, Young Blood Chronicles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:03:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsshine/pseuds/madsshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2019 in the zones, and danger plagues California. After meeting a new friend (or maybe his soul mate) at a concert, Kobra Kid thinks things are looking up. Oh, how wrong he is. New, harsher law enforcement is being rolled out by BLI, and it's only a matter of time before they get to Kobra's friend. Can he save them from the new Music Defence Unit, or will the zones be silenced for good? Faced with a near impossible battle, the Killjoys and the Young Bloods have to- literally- save rock and roll. </p>
<p>(a Danger Days/Young Blood Chronicles crossover)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road To Ruin

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I started for BBB 2014, but never got around to finishing. It WILL be finished though, so don't worry. I just couldn't meet the deadline ;)

ZONE 6 // MAY 3rd // 1900 HOURS

Mikey leans against the doorframe of the diner’s kitchen and watches his brother intently. He’s fiddling with _something_ -Mikey can’t see what, with the way Gerard’s hunched over- trying to do God knows what to it. Gerard hasn’t even looked up, although Mikey’s certainly not the quietest guy around, all awkward long legs that he’s starting to think he’s _never_ going to quite get the hang of. Gee can be so fucking spacey sometimes. 

“Not on your guard today, huh Poison?” Mikey teases, walking over and plopping himself down on the stiff mattress, knees knocking against his brother’s. 

“Shut up, Kid. Jet’s keeping watch. I wouldn’t be able to tackle anything that can get past him anyway,” he pouts, shoving Mikey’s shoulder. 

“Damn right you couldn’t. Maybe we should reconsider the whole ‘leader’ thing. Y’know, if you’re not cut out for it.” 

“Maybe we should sacrifice _you_ to the dracs.” Gerard grumbles, but he’s grinning. And, damn, Mikey’s missed this side of his brother. He’s always so serious nowadays, always strategizing, or planning, or worrying; never joking around; never seeing the point of having a good time. How could he, when just survival was an issue? He’s in a good mood tonight, though, and that is one thing for Mikey to be grateful for in this fucking wasteland. 

“You’d miss me, Poison.”

“I would.” he confirms. That’s something Mikey knows will never change. He knows his brother loves him- possibly to a fault. It’s a thought that both helps him get to sleep at night and keeps him up worrying about the extents his brother will go for him. But it’s a comfort, nonetheless. 

“So what do you need, Kid? I assume you didn’t just come here to harass your fearless leader.”

“Fearless enough to drive me to a gig tonight?” Might as well rip the band-aid right off. Gerard stills. 

“Where’d you hear about a gig?” Mikey pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and hands it over. Gerard takes it and smooths it out, studying it. It’s such a classic Party Poison move that Mikey almost laughs, would’ve if he weren’t so damn anxious. He fidgets nervously as Gerard skims his gloved fingertips over the wrinkled surface and torn edges of the paper. 

“Have you heard of these guys, Kid? ‘Young Blood’?” Mikey nods.

“Heard a couple of their songs on the radio, yeah. Big deal out in some of the bigger rebel towns. “ Gerard frowns, forehead creasing as he ponders this.  
“So they’re some kind of rebel rock group, then? Are they Killjoys?”

“Something like that,” Mikey shrugs. “They fight more with words that with guns though, I think.”

“Sometimes that can be better for starting a revolution,” Gerard nods, still frowning. “Shit, they must really be pissing off Better Living Industries. This stuff is printed with real ink and everything,” He mutters, holding out the flyer. “That’s expensive as fuck out here.”

“Seriously Poison, these guys are fine. They have a big following. They know what they’re doing. This is the one chance I’ve had to see live music in _years_ \- and it’s free too!” Mikey knows he’s getting close to begging, and he usually doesn’t stoop that low, but _come on_. Concerts are one of the things he misses most about his old life, and he’s definitely a nostalgic kind of guy. He clings to any remnants of childhood and New Jersey as hard as he fucking can. 

“I guess it’d be okay.” Gerard finally agrees, pursing his lips. “Why’d you ask me though? Nothing’s stopping you from getting up and going.” Mikey rolls his eyes.

“I told you, Poison. I want you to drive me,” he sighs, exasperated. “Please.” He watches his brother stand up and start pacing around the small kitchen, restless and anxious. 

“Not that I don’t want to Kid, but you have a motorcycle, and we really can’t be short _two_.” 

“You said it yourself, dude. They’re rebels. Authorities after them and all that. They’ll have security, if they can afford it, but I’m sure the last thing they need is a Killjoy crashing the party.” Gerard nods, and stops pacing right in front of Mikey, looking dead at him. It makes Mikey’s stomach crawl. 

“Nothing brings the Dracs like a Killjoy,” he says thoughtfully.

“Yeah. So could you drop me off there and then I can like, radio you when I need to get picked up?” he lowers his gaze, murmuring, “It would mean a lot to me.” Gee smiles.

“Yeah. Yeah I guess that could work. Anything to make you happy, Kobra.” and Mikey knows that he means it. Party Poison always means it. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Mikey stares at his reflection in the tarnished mirror above the sink. He’s switched his Kobra Kid jacket for a worn out leather one and ringed his eyes with the homemade eyeliner that Gee concocted a while ago. Mikey doesn’t even _want_ to know what’s in it, but it looks decent enough. He tried slicking his hair back with water, but that was less successful. It just made his frayed blond hair dry into weird clumps that only make his fading roots more noticeable. But it doesn’t matter. He looks basically unrecognizable, and that’s the important part. He needs to blend in, so he doesn’t cause a scene. 

It’s crazy how much being a rebel- a Killjoy, nonetheless, changes how people react to you. The zones are so mundane and boring, almost as much as the city, but the second you walk in with red hair or a mask, all hell breaks lose. People don’t seem to understand that all the commotion does nothing but attract trouble. He certainly doesn’t want that happening tonight. It’s bad enough in a store or something, but in an illegal concert? He’d be fucked, to put it lightly. So he needs to look like an average citizen tonight. He’s still messing with his hair when Gerard walks in, humming to himself. 

“Ready to go, Kobra?” 

“Yeah. Do I look okay?” Gerard looks him over.

“Fucking hot dude.” Mikey rolls his eyes, but he can feel himself blushing, his face hot and tight. Gerard laughs- a real laugh, girly giggles and choked out sounds- and Mikey can’t help but grin back.

“Whatever. Lets roll,” he mumbles, tossing Gerard the keys to the Trans Am, blushing even brighter when his brother links arms with him as they walk out into the cool desert night.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...

The concert is fucking intense. By the end of it, Mikey is sweaty and sore all over, the humid air in the shack and wild crowd leaching him of energy. The bass and drums pulse through him, and it’s electrifying. He feels it sparking in his organs, animating him like some sort of twisted, dystopian Frankenstein’s Monster. He feels more alive than he has since the Helium Wars. 

The band isn’t too loud, but they’re in your face and angry, and they all have eyes that Mikey swears could pierce through a Drac or a Scarecrow in seconds, have them falling to their knees and begging for mercy, confessing their sins. They also have the crowd going wild, hooked on every word and note. Mikey loves it. 

Twice, he catches the bassist’s eye. The first time he winks, making Mikey grin and squirm a little, dance that much harder. The second time he stops playing for a second to hold up a finger and raise his eyebrows, signaling for Mikey to wait around after the show. 

That’s exactly what Mikey is doing, leaning against the tired wooden walls of the makeshift venue as the people trickle out of it, waiting for that guy to come over. Praying that he actually will, because Mikey hasn’t had anyone but his guys to talk to for ages, and even though they’re great, they can be exhausting. 

A sketchy looking guy is selling packs of homemade cigarettes, by the exit and Mikey can’t help but shell out the two carbons for them. He can’t really spare the money, but he needs something to do, something to calm his nerves while he waits. He gets through half the pack before the bassist finally saunters over.

“Hey man. How’d you like the show?” The guy looks different up close. For one, he’s _tiny_. He must be at least half a foot shorter than Mikey. For another, he’s ditched the weird skirt and ski mask outfit he’d worn onstage and is wearing jeans and a tank top, his curly black hair falling in his face.

“It was amazing.” Mikey replies honestly. “Seriously. It was fucking powerful.” Bassist-Dude grins. 

“That’s what we’re aiming for. Keeping rock and roll alive, and all that, y’know.”

“That’s for damn sure. BLI must be all over you.” it comes off as a joke, but its not- not really. 

“They’re not happy. But they haven’t bothered us too much. We keep pretty quiet until we know we can trust a town. No tour schedule, we just show up,” he laughs, a warm, bright sound that rings in Mikey’s ears for long after it stops. “I’m Pete, by the way. Pizza enthusiast, bassist extraordinaire. How about you?” Mikey lets himself half smile. 

“Where do you find pizza out here? Korse wouldn’t stand for pizza places in the zones, that’s for sure. Too much fun.”

“That’s why I’ve got to keep it a secret,” he winks, “But you’re avoiding the question.” Mikey sighs.

“James,” he says. “Music enthusiast, rebel extraordinaire.” because even though this guy- Pete- is great, and he seems trustworthy enough, real names are always a no-go. To his surprise, Pete grabs his hand, holding it fast in his warm grip. 

“You’re lying. But that’s okay. You wanna come hang out backstage, James? They guys will freak out if I’m not back soon.” Mikey doesn’t let himself feel guilty that he lets Pete lead him away before thoughts of the guys back at the diner can even flit across his mind.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………...

The backstage of the venue is marginally better than the rest of it. A few scratchy zone-made mattresses are on the floor and propped against the walls to form crude couches, but there are real, BLI standard blankets and a functioning air conditioning unit, which pretty much makes this the most high end place in the area. The other members of Young Blood are scattered around the room. As it turns out, they are actually the least threatening band Mikey has ever seen. They’re all short, and smiley, and chattering away. He would never have pegged them as rebels. Pete drags him to an unoccupied couch and forces him down, snuggling up to him. Mikey doesn’t mind though; It’s kind of nice. Sure, being a Killjoy is great, but everything is so bleak. With Pete, though, every point of contact makes the warm, fuzzy space in his head gets cozier. He could get used to it. 

“I’ll give you the basics,” Pete whispers into his ear, his warm breath tickling Mikey’s neck. He points to a guy with glasses and a hat, who Mikey recognizes as the singer. “That’s Patrick,” he says, “Real sweet guy. The best. Joe’s over there. Curly hair, pissed off. It’s an act though. Well, mostly. He plays guitar.” Mikey doesn’t really know what to say, feeling a little overwhelmed, so he just nods and lets Pete talk. “Andy’s the drummer. Lots of tattoos and uh, he looks hardcore but he’s a huge softy. Like me.” 

The grin that’s almost splitting Pete’s face in half is too much, and Mikey has to laugh. Of course, that alerts everyone else to the new presence in the room. Mikey cringes as he feels three pairs of eyes scan over him.

“Wentz, what have we told you about groupies and zonerunners?” Joe finally says, breaking the silence. It’s like the room itself stopped holding it’s breath, and Mikey lets the tension wash out of him, even more when Pete rests his hand on his shoulder. 

“This is uh, James, guys. He’s not a groupie. Nah, he’s rad. We’re gonna go hang out outside for a bit.” 

“Alright Pete,” Patrick sighs, “But I swear, if you get yourself ghosted, no one is coming to save your ass.” 

“Noted. Let’s go James,” and suddenly Mikey is being tugged from the cool room to the sweaty desert night. 

They sit down on the rough gravel outside the door, leaning against the wall. Mikey lets his guard down enough to lean on Pete’s shoulder, just a little. He just smiles and wraps an arm around Mikey’s skinny waist, pulling him closer. 

“You’re real, y’know that James? I mean, that’s why I noticed you in the first place. All those kids, they’re here for the music, the excitement, the drama, but you actually care, don’t you? About BLI, I mean. You’d fight them.” It’s not a question, and Mikey quirks his lips. 

“I might. There’s always a Drac out here in need of a good ghosting.” 

“Thought so. We’d be a good team, dude. We should get together next time I’m in town.”

“I’d really like that,” Mikey admits, snuggling closer. 

“You’re adorable,” Pete snickers, and Mikey pouts. “I mean that in the best way,” he assures, and then “Would it be too forward if I kissed you?” 

“I don’t think it would be.” And that’s all it takes before their lips are pressed together, chapped and dry, but neither of them really care. Pete is moaning into Mikey’s mouth, pulling him closer, always just a bit closer, and really that’s all Mikey wants right now. 

“It’s like we just… connected,” Pete breaths against his lips, pulling away just a little, “From the second I saw you. Shit, James, I need this.” Mikey just nods and presses their mouths together again, trying to make the moment last. It can’t though. He knows that- and too soon he hears static coming from the radio communicator that he’s all but forgotten about. 

“Shit!” he curses, breaking away from Pete as he fumbles to get it out from where it’s hooked onto his belt. 

“Kobra?” he hears, fuzzy and tinny from the small speaker. “Shit man, You’d better be dusted or kidnapped, because it’s late. If you’re not done soon, you’re walking back.” Mikey sighs, presses the “talk” button.

“Sorry. You can come now, though, Poison. I’m done. Done as I’ll ever be.”

“Yeah, whatever. Be there in ten.” 

Mikey puts the radio away and turns back to Pete, apologies on his lips. But Pete just shakes his head and quirks an eyebrow. 

“Kobra? As in, Kobra Kid: the Fabulous Killjoy?” He looks impressed. “Shit, when I said you were real… I had no idea. But it’s cool. You’re still James to me- unless you don’t want to be.” Mikey smiles, relief flooding his veins

“James works. Or… or… Mikey. I mean…” he stammers. He knows he shouldn’t have said it, and it feels so _wrong_ on his lips, but he couldn’t help it. He needs Pete to know him- to know him for real; not from the shitty zone tabloids, or worse, BLI wanted posters. His body feels cold and numb, until Pete rests a hand on his cheek and whispers, 

“It’s okay, Mikey. I won’t tell anyone. You couldn’t even torture it out of me. I’m tough.” He laughs, but his face is serious. “We’ll meet up again, right? This is some sort of soul mates shit, so it must work out in the end.”

“I hope so,” Mikey agrees, pressing his lips to Pete’s one last time. “Maybe we can collaborate. We’ll hold the pigs back while you guys hijack the Battery City radio station. Spread your message.” 

“One day,” Pete promises, just as Gerard pulls up in the Trans Am. “See you around, Killjoy.”

“See ya, Young Blood.”  
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………......

ZONE 6 // MAY 10th // 0900 HOURS

“-and steer clear of zones one and two, tumbleweeds. Some real nasty stuff is going on down there, and you don’t want a part in it.” Dr Death Defying’s voice blares out of the radio.

“What’s going on near the city?” Frank asks, twisting around in his seat to look at Mikey and Gerard. The Trans Am is bumping across the unpaved desert road in a way that’s making Mikey nauseous, and the sun shines too bright in his eyes, to real in this bleak, grey wasteland. He can’t think enough to even consider the question, but Gerard looks thoughtful.

“Dunno,” he says finally. “Haven’t heard anything else, but Dr D makes it sound pretty bad. I’ll switch stations, see if we can find someone who’s talking about it.” 

He fiddles with the radio, and Mikey’s head is pounding with a headache and buzzing with the constant _station, static, station, static_. Gerard flips through news stations, music stations, and code stations; stopping any time he hears “zone one”, “zone two”, or “Better Living Industries”. 

“Word of a new special defense unit of BLI has reached the zones, motorbabies!” a female voice says. She sounds angry- no not angry. Anxious would be a better word, Mikey thinks. Whatever’s going on must be big, to get this much attention from Killjoys. For a while it’s silent, except for the bump of the car, the groan of the engine, and the hum of the woman’s voice. 

Mikey is hunched over, resting his face in his hands. He’s trying to pay attention- he really is- but he’s been off ever since the concert. He doesn’t want to- _can’t_ admit it to himself, because it’s absolutely ridiculous, but he misses Pete. A lot. 

He knows that if he said anything, the guys would tell him it was stupid. Would say he was childish for getting so emotional over what was basically just a one-night stand. It’s just that he hasn’t spoken to someone like that since the Helium Wars, at least- as a friend, and just that. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he had missed it. Sure the guys were always there for him, but they were family more than friends. They wouldn’t get that though, wouldn’t understand that it’s not the same thing. So he keeps his mouth shut, acts fine, and tries to listen to the girl on the radio. 

“-war on music has begun, with this new special unit enforcing strict regulations. Even for those of us in the zones, kiddies. Watch your backs because the pigs are just getting stronger.” This grabs Mikey’s attention. Music? He nudges his brother’s shoulder. 

“What’d they say about a war on music, Poison? A war started by who?” 

“They said it’s classified. Hopefully Korse, though. That might get him off our backs for a while, huh?”

Mikey doesn’t say anything. It feels like his chest is being squeezed, too tight, way too tight. He struggles to take deep breaths, and tries not to think about what this would mean for Young Blood, for Pete. _It shouldn’t matter to him_.

“-come back tomorrow for some updates and great tunes. No matter what BLI says, I’ll be here with my records ‘til they ghost me. This is Lyn-Z Detonator coming at you all the way from zone two. Keep runnin’, Motorbabies.”

With that, the buzzing of static fills the air again. Everyone seems frozen, still and silent, until finally Mikey can’t take it anymore. He grabs the radio from his brother and turns it off. It’s like that breaks a spell. Suddenly, they’re all just like they were before, stretching their cramped muscles and chatting about the latest news. 

“I don’t think they’ll bother us out here in six,” Ray is saying, “They have other problems with us.”

“Yeah,” Gerard agrees, “Sounds fucking shady though. How’re they gonna get rid of music? Dust everyone who makes it? Everyone who plays it? They’re gonna have to fucking dust the whole state!” Frank giggles.

“They’d do it, too. Hey Jet, you think they’ll go after musicians like they go after us? Torture and shit? Do musicians even use code names out here?” 

Mikey thinks he’s going to be sick.  
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

ZONE 6 // MAY 19th // 0200 HOURS

 

Mikey pokes at the fire with a stick, watching the embers pop and fizzle. He hates standing watch, especially at night. All he can do is watch the fire and be alone with his thoughts in the vast, dark desert. It’s no fun, and it always leaves him feeling miserable. 

“How you holding up, Kid?” Gerard suddenly asks from behind him, making him jump. 

“Fine until I thought you were a Drac coming to fucking kill me.” he glares.

“Sorry,” Gee murmurs, lowering himself onto the night-cooled sand next to his brother. “I just wanted to talk to you. In, well… In private, I guess.” He fixes Mikey with a sympathetic look that makes him squirm. 

“I’m doing fine Poison. Really. You can go back to sleep,” He doesn’t exactly mean for it to sound so harsh, or so cold, but he can’t be bothered to apologize. 

“Don’t bullshit me, Kid. You’re my brother, I know when something’s up. You’ve been acting funny for weeks. Since the concert, actually. I thought you had a good time?” 

“I did,” Mikey groans, “It was the fucking best night of my life.” 

“Oh,” is all Gerard says, and then a flicker of understanding crawls across his eyes. “That guy you were talking about on the way back to the diner. The one you were with outside. You, uh, you really did like him. Uh, Pat, right?” 

“Pete. He was… Poison, I know I just met him once, but it’s like we were made for each other. Like we were supposed to be… together.”

“Well you have me, Jet, and Ghoul to hang out with,” Gee says, and it only sounds a little defensive. “We like the same stuff as you.”

“Not like that. We- you guys are great, okay? And you know I’d do anything for you. But Pete was different. We talked and we…we” In the dull orange firelight, he can just make out the huge grin on his brother’s face. 

“You guys made out.”

“We did no- well, yeah. I guess. But that’s not what was special, dude. At least, not all of it.”

“Nah, I get it man. You should hang out with him. Get together when they’re in town.” 

“Maybe,” Mikey sighs, “If they ever come back. Besides, I don’t know how to contact them.” He sees Gerard’s face fall.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about the new law enforcement. You think it will affect them?”

“Who knows.” Mikey’s pretty sure they _all_ know. Gerard forces a smile.

“Don’t worry about it, Kid. It’ll work out. Always does.” Mikey watches him trace a pattern in the sand with his finger for a moment, before he suddenly turns and says, “Get some rest, alright? It’s my shift anyway. We’ll figure things out.” and strokes a hand through Mikey’s hair, a small, rare gesture of love. Something that used to happen all the time, but vanished along with their family, their home, and most of New Jersey. As much as Mikey hates to admit it, the fires snatched his brother like they snatched everything else. 

“Night,” Mikey mumbles, standing up and brushing the sand off his clothes. It’s pointless. Everything gets coated in sand or dust out here eventually. He’s grateful to watch the flames get smaller and dimmer as he walks farther away, into the muggy kitchen of the diner where his mattress is, so that maybe he can get some sleep. 

He doesn’t, though. Instead, he tosses and turns on the scratchy bed, tangles himself up in his worn sheets, and thinks about Pete. Misses Pete. Worries about him. He listens to Rays steady snoring and Frank’s wheezy breaths, trying to ground himself. He replays Gerard’s words in his head, over and over. _“It’ll work out. Always does.”_ He thinks about Pete, calling them soulmates. Gee is right. It’ll be fine. Mikey needs it to be. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

ZONE 6 // JUNE 1st // 1300 HOURS

“It’s a bad day out in the zones, tumbleweeds. Someone up there called some shots, and left zone three a little less shiny.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Mikey sees Ray and his brother share a concerned glance. Firefight in the zones in nothing new, practically a daily occurrence. They’ve all ghosted their fair share of Dracs, and really it’s not surprising that other rebels have too. What’s concerning, though, is that Dr D is so upset. 

“This shit isn’t usually radio worthy,” Frank remarks, walking over to their booth from where he’d been washing shirts behind the counter. “Kinda freaky.” 

Ray nods and holds up a gloved finger.

“Quiet, Ghoul. Listen.”

“Before the sun was even watching overhead, the pigs were at it. Zone three woke up to a big surprise, as I’m told. Squads of Scarecrows working for the big one- no not that one, sunshine. A new one- top secret and all powerful, here to keep our minds clean and our guns on the ground, that’s the rumour. And she’s after our heroes, our saviours, our noisy zonerunners. That’s right, tumbleweeds, she’s got Young Blood Patrick Stump, our very own, and we don’t know where. Not a trace of him, except for a hand, which was so graciously left for his bandmates. Whether they’re in hiding or planning a rescue mission, well, I can only know so much-”

Mikey can feel his brother’s eyes on him, knows he needs to say something, but he can’t. He closes his eyes, and he knows he’s shaking. Voices are in the background, fuzzy and distorted in the back of his head, coming in and out of focus.

“Hey, Party! Why’s Kobra… What’s wrong with him, dude?”

“He’s fine, Ghoul... just met those guys a few weeks ago, that’s all.”

“What? When?... go to a show?”

“Went to their…friends with the bassist….”

“They probably just want… wouldn’t…” 

Finally, he looks up. All the guys are looking at him nervously. 

“Kobra,” Ray starts gently, but Mikey doesn’t let him finish. He needs to get out of here- he can’t, he can’t can’t _can’t_ talk about this. All he can think is _Pete’s next_ , and he can’t breath. He stands up, unsteady and rushed. He looks around wildly, needing some sort of escape from here. He bolts for the door before anyone can say anything else, the chimes jingling, and falls to his knees in the hot sand. 

No one comes after him, but he can feel their eyes watching from the windows, checking on him every few minutes, observing him like some sort of lab rat or naughty child. Finally, he scrapes himself off the ground and sprints to his motorcycle. He wipes his red, tear stained eyes with his bandana before he switches it out for his helmet, the rough, gritty texture against his eyes bringing new tears to the surface. He revs the engine and drives. His vision is blurry, but that’s fine. No one is out here to see, and he knows exactly where he’s going. The others will know too, but he doesn’t care- they’ve all stooped this low at some point. He doesn’t care what they think; he needs a fix. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Broken glass surrounds the beat up trailer like a moat, dagger sharp and glistening in the radiating sun. Seriously- it’s _everywhere_. Tiny crystals and almost whole bottles scattered in a six foot radius from the door. Mikey parks his motorcycle and prays no one will grab it. It’ll have to stay here, there’s no point in trying to drive it over all the glass.

He carefully tries to maneuver himself around the larger pieces, hopping awkwardly from foot to foot, all stiff jeans and long legs, but he can still feel the sharp pricks of the shards stabbing through his heavy boots into the soles of his feet. It hurts, but it’ll be worth it. 

See, Killjoys are the good kind of rebels, but that doesn’t mean every zonerunner is. The zones- especially the farther out ones- are packed with gangs, thieves, and drug dealers. Most of the time, they don’t bother the Killjoys, and most of the time, Mikey really only cares about the last one. 

Dewees, the guy who owns and works out of the death-trap of a trailer, is pretty decent as far as dealers go. Not too shady, well, comparatively, and fair. He and Mikey go pretty far back, from before the Pig Bomb. Most importantly, Mikey knows he won’t ask questions. If he’s got carbons, Dewees will give him what he needs.

Mikey knocks twice on the door, two short raps on the chipping wood. 

“Who?” he hears, gruff and wheezy, from inside.

“Kobra Kid?”

“You think this is fuckin’ Battery City, princess? Give me something I can work with, man. You got a code word or something?

“Uh…” It’s been so long since he’s had to do this. He wracks his brain for Dewees’ word. “Eudora?” 

“No shit, it is you! Hang on man.” Mikey hears about half a dozen clicks, locks being undone, and then the door creaks open. Dewees grins his somehow endearing half toothless grin and punches Mikey’s shoulder lightly. “Come on in man. Haven’t seen you ‘round these parts in a hell of a long time. Thought the scarecrows got you.” 

The knot in Mikey’s stomach tightens, but he forces a laugh and his signature lopsided grin.

“Nah, not yet. Maybe soon, with the looks of things.” 

Dewees nods as he leads Mikey around the piles of stuff- books and boxes scattered around, hundreds of old BLI newspapers and propaganda pamphlets stacked up, dirty dishes on every surface in the tiny, dark trailer. They head to the back room, the one that’s sealed off from the rest. Mikey crosses his arms over his chest and watches Dewees push a few boxes out of the way. 

“What’re ya looking for, Kid? Something specific?”

Mikey shrugs.

“Nah. This was kind of… spur of the moment. I’ll take anything,” he replies honestly. 

“How much ‘you got?” 

“Fifteen carbons,” he shrugs. He’s pretty sure he does, anyway. Dewees hisses through his teeth, shaking his head. 

“I’m sorry, man, but I don’t know what I can get you for fifteen… Jesus, fifteen C doesn’t go very far these days.” he walks over to a shelf and rummages around the piles of things, searching. “Got some prescription stuff, maybe. The strong stuff from the city. Might take the edge off, if you’re not worried about side effects.” 

“What kind of side effect are we talking about?” he might be desperate, but he isn’t stupid. Doing this might be a forgivable offence, but his brother would never let him hear the end of it if he ended up puking or losing an arm of something. And that sounds like more trouble than it’s worth, anyway.  
“Ah, shit, I don’t know man. Let me find the bottle. Should say on there.” Dewees keeps pushing things aside, grumbling and cursing quietly until he finally holds up a small clear bottle with a white label. Peering closely at it he tells Mikey, “These are grade A antidepressants. They’ll knock you out of your mind pretty good. Side effects are the usual; dizziness, nausea. Nothing you can’t handle. Hell, I’ve given you worse,” he snorts. 

“Alright. That’ll have to do, I guess.” Mikey sighs. “How much?” 

Dewees looks at him, and Mikey can practically feel the pity. He’s not going to get a bargain though. He isn’t that naive. Dewees might be an okay guy, but his business is money making, first and foremost.

“Fifteen for the bottle?” 

“Done.” Mikey pulls out his money and exchanges it for the bottle. He’s not in any state to regret it right now, even though he’s now officially broke. He’ll eat Power Pup for months if he’s to. It’s worth it. So worth it, to be able to forget. 

“Enjoy,” Dewees says, stuffing the money in his jeans pocket. He gently nudges Mikey’s shoulder, signalling for him to get going. “See ya ‘round, man.” 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

ZONE 6 // ??? // ???

The first thing Mikey registers is that his head fucking kills. The dull throbbing has started again, and he wonders if he’s getting sick. He changes his theory when he feels how dry his mouth is, the gritty feeling of sand crunching between his teeth. A sharp pain across his cheek snaps him out of his thoughts. Now that he’s more aware, he thinks he can hear voices, muffled and blurred, floating around his body. The pain again, this time on the other side.

“Enough, Ghoul.” 

_Ghoul is here? And Who’s speaking? Not Poison. Jet, Maybe?_

“Fine. I’ll take his bike. You take care of him.”

Suddenly, he feels himself floating, up into the hot, burning air. Closer to the sun, brighter, warmer. It won’t be so bad, melting up there, he thinks. It’ll be spectacular- combustion and fusion, and colourful sparks. It’s a comforting thought. A big “fuck you” to the pigs, dying like that.

But on second thought, he’s not floating. There are arms under his back, lifting him. And they aren’t moving up, like he thought. He was so sure they were. No, they’re moving forwards, or maybe back. Mikey can’t tell. He doesn’t care. He can feel his head dangling on his neck like it’s barely attached, and it reminds him of one of the bobbleheads he used to have as a kid. 

“Eyes open, Kid. Gotta stay awake.”

There’s a soft surface under him now, cool leather, and then the world is spinning around him, swirling fast and sickeningly as he speeds forward. It’s too much, and he rolls over, acid burning in his throat and being choked out onto the leather. There’s a loud noise from somewhere slightly in front of him, and then he hears Ray again, his voice cool and calming, like cold water to Mikey’s overheated brain. 

“Hang in there, Kobra. We’re almost there.” 

Where? He has no idea where the fuck they are now, but he likes it. If only the swirling would stop it would be great. He doesn’t want to go anywhere else; he wants to stay _here_ with Jet Star and the sun. It happens anyway, and before he knows it there are arms around him again- and he needs to remind himself that he’s _not_ floating away, that Ray is grounding him. His heart falls when he hears the jingle of chimes, little dots of colour appearing in his vision. It’s got to be the diner door. That’s the only place he’s ever heard that sound out here.

“Oh thank fuck!” the cool leather of his brother’s jacket slips under his back, Ray’s arms slipping away, and Mikey’s pretty sure that’s who’s carrying him and speaking. Mostly sure. A hand gently brushes hair out of his face before Gerard sets him on a soft, pillowy surface. “Kobra, you dumbshit.” 

Something is being pressed against his mouth, and he tries squirm away, but it’s useless. 

“Drink, Kid,” and then there’s cool water pouring into his mouth. He struggles to swallow it, and his brother lifts his head up until he stops coughing. When he’s lying down again, he feels his jacket being peeled off his sticky skin, and the still air of their hideout wraps around him like the feeling of plunging into cold water. He starts to relax a little, curling into the surface- a mattress, maybe- but then Gerard is talking again.

“How many did you take, Kid.” he sounds disappointed. 

“Huh?” 

“You don’t remember?” now it’s more concerned than angry, and isn’t that just like his brother. Gerard shakes something, and it rattles around a bit. _Oh. Fuck._

The problem is, Mikey can’t actually remember taking any. There’s a huge gap in his memory, a smudgy area that he knows is there, but can’t really understand. 

“Four?” he guesses. It’s probably a little low, but that’s alright. He’s alive, so it couldn’t have been _that_ many. 

“The dose is two, Kobra.” Gerard sets the pill bottle down and sits next to Mikey, the mattress dipping a little. “Sleep.” 

Mikey does.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"I'm going to be honest with you," Gerard says. He's perched on the edge of Mikey's mattress, looking serious as fuck. It's freaking him out. 

"Poison, I just woke up. I have no idea what you're talking about. What happened?" He rubs his eyes groggily and tries to figure out what exactly is going on. His brother shifts uncomfortably. He’s sitting on his hands like he always does when he thinks he’s not going to be able to keep them still.

"You've been out for a few days, you know. Fuckin' thought you'd never wake up!" he laughs, harsh and forced. 

"What's. Going. On." Mikey grits out. He's not dealing with this. 

"Kid, I don't want you to hear this somewhere else first... But while you were out, uh," Gerard looks down. "They got Pete. I mean. All the guys in Young Blood. They're all missing. Reported as 'captured'. I'm sorry."

Mikey takes a deep breath. For a few minutes he just focuses on his breathing. He knew this was coming. He can deal. 

"We need to go after them." he finally states wearily. Gerard states at him, momentarily stunned. That doesn't happen often, and it's kind of funny. Gerard does 'deer staring into headlights' pretty well. He puts a hand on Mikey's thigh. 

"Kobra. Kobra that's ridiculous." 

Mikey scrambles to untangle himself from his nest of blankets and stands up. He's ready to fight on this. 

"Poison. We can't just let this go. We can't let them win!" 

"No. We are not going all the way to zone three to rescue these guys. I get that you have a thing or whatever with this Pete guy, but we have enough work on our plates here."

"We're Killjoys, Poison. It's our job to protect people." 

"We can't protect everyone. You know that. We _can't_."

"They're important!" Mikey yells. There are tears trickling down his cheeks. Gerard shakes his head. 

"Kid. They aren't, really. Not more important than the entire towns we can save here." Mikey turns away, face burning.

"Whatever. Where are my pills, Poison?" they're not on the shelf that Mikey remembers his brother putting them down on. 

"Are you fucking kidding me? You just woke up from almost overdosing, and you want to do it again? Damn, Kobra, I don't like this Pete guy. Not if he does this to you."

"He didn't _do_ this to me!" Mikey shouts. "It was fate. Meant to be." Gerard eyes him skeptically. 

"Shut up. You don't believe in that shit." 

"Doesn't that make it mean more, then? That this changed my mind?" he says, a little quieter. 

"You're a weird one, Kid. We aren't going after them; end of discussion. Don't ask again." 

They both know the conversation isn't over, but Mikey storms off anyway, promising himself that he’ll figure something out.  
................................................................................................................................................................................................

"Jet. Hey, Jet Star! Hello?" Mikey taps Ray's shoulder, and his head shoots up. Kinda like a gopher popping out of it's hole, Mikey thinks, if gophers had curls. 

"Kobra? Hey. What's up?" he asks. He gestures for Mikey to take a seat across from him in the booth. 

"Nothing really... You busy?"

"Nothing too pressing. Just trying to figure out some codes... Looks like BLI's planning an attack on that big neutral town out in five." he says, pointing to the pin covered map on the table. "There's a huge rebel presence there right now. We'll probably go see what we can do sometime this week, if Poison thinks we can risk it."

"Poison doesn't think we can risk _anything_ Mikey mutters bitterly. Ray shoots him a sympathetic look. 

"I don't really know what's going on between you and those band guys," he starts, "But you know it'd be impossible to save them, right? If the pigs want them dead... It's only a matter of time." 

"How did you..."

Ray frowns. 

"You guys aren't exactly quiet."

"Oh. Mikey drums his fingers on the table. "You uh... You agree with him." he can't hide the disappointment in his voice. 

“I think so. You haven’t heard the broadcasts, man. They keep talking about how secretive and powerful the music defence unit is...it'd be reckless to risk our lives for them. It wouldn't accomplish anything."

"But we can only do so much, Jet! Maybe they're worth our lives. We just go and ghost some Dracs; they spread their message to thousands of people. They can make more of a difference."

Ray gives him a strange look. 

"Listen to me. You know I love music as much as you do. I know music is a powerful weapon, but we live in a different world now. There are different priorities. I know you know that." 

"I guess," Mikey sighs, defeated. 

"I know how you feel, if that helps. With Christa." and it's true. Mikey can remember how broken Ray was after the fires, how distant he was when they had to leave without even knowing for sure that she wasn't alive. 

"I'm sorry, man." he murmurs. He knows all too well that a simple apology doesn’t do the feeling justice.

"Yeah... You wanna help me with this, Kid? Take your mind off things."

"Sure."

"Grab the radio. We have a plan to bust."  
................................................................................................................................................................................................

ZONE 5 // JUNE 21st // 1300 HOURS

It's always nerve wracking heading into a fight. Mikey has never gotten used to the heart-pounding anticipation or the quiet focus that always consumes the guys as they drive into a battle. He doesn't even consider the possibility that one -or all- of them might not return. After so many months spent putting his life on the line, he's learned that you can't. 

The town is in shambles already. Even from several miles away, they can see the towers of smoke and smell the choking fumes of houses, possessions, _people_ burning. Gunfire is a constant sound. Mikey unconsciously rests his hand on his own raygun. 

Too soon, the Trans Am bumps up to the outskirts of town. A few Dracs are wandering around, loosely patrolling the boundaries. They should be pretty easy to take out; the real trouble will be in the middle of the city. That's where the Scarecrows and higher-ups will be, highly concentrated and thirsting for rebel blood. 

Suddenly, Gerard nods once, and then they're all running. Mikey rolls out of the door and hurries to press himself against a the side of a building. Breathing hard, he whips out his gun and shoots at a Drac a few feet away. It turns in surprise and makes a disturbingly human noise of pain, one that makes bile rise into Mikey's throat. Before it can even hit the ground he's running again, hurrying to meet up with the guys. 

"Ghoul, take the East with Kobra. Me and Jet will take the West!" his brother shouts over the racket of destruction and battle. 

"Got it!" Ghouls yells, whizzing past him. Mikey sprints to keep up. By the time the two of them reach the centre of the town, he’s panting for breath. 

Both men gasp as they see the state of the streets. Everything is coloured in sickly shades of grey, cloaked in smoke and ash. They duck behind a pile of rubble so they can evaluate, trying to come up with a game plan. 

The biggest issue is going to be the two swarms of Dracs that seem to be keeping watch. That makes Mikey a little nervous- this can’t be the centre of the operation. Not enough chaos or security. That means that Gerard and Ray will be left to deal with the Scarecrows and BLI officials. He and Frank just have to eliminate the Dracs and try to keep the destruction to a minimum. It’s easier said than done. 

Mikey turns to Frank, hitching his Bandana higher over his mouth to try to keep out the smoke that’s itching in his throat. 

“You take the left, I take the right?” he asks, muffled by the fabric. 

“You know it, Kid.” 

With that, Mikey grabs his gun out of its holster again and holds it firmly against his chest, ready to shoot at anything that moves. He sprints a few feet to duck into an alleyway. 

His group of Dracs are milling around about ten feet away, and occasionally Mikey will hear something catch fire, or the tortured scream of some unlucky citizen. He darts out for a few seconds, shooting wildly at anything with a white mask. He can only feel half satisfied whenever he hears one thud to the ground, though. No matter how skilled of a fighter he becomes, he will never get past the fact that even the Dracs are human. Or at least, were human, before BLI got to them. But it needs to be done. 

He spends what feels like hours, but must only be minutes in a cycle of aim, shoot, run, dodge. Every Drac he dusts sends dozens of bright beams rocketing towards him, and he’s so damn lucky that his reflexes are good. He’s exhausted and dripping with sweat, both products of the desert heat more than the battle, but he keeps going, zoned in on his goal. Occasionally, he hears Frank shout something, cursing the Dracs into the ground, but mostly he hears the bangss and whizes of rayguns and the crackling of the flames that lick up the buildings and streets. 

Everything passes in a blur, adrenaline pumping non-stop through Mikey’s veins, and he’s so focused that he doesn’t really stop to look at the bleak scene in front of him until the last Drac falls down, a bright laser beam from his gun smacking its forehead and sending it spiraling backwards. It’s then that he cautiously crawls out of the cramped space he’s ended up in- a small, damp crevice under what he thinks used to be a staircase. He looks around, still holding his gun at the ready. 

Suddenly, he hears a sharp noise, and he pulls the trigger without a second thought. 

“Dude!” Frank yells, and Mikey sags in relief that there isn’t another cloud of them. “You’re fucking lucky your aim is shitty.” 

“You just have good reflexes,” Mikey dismisses, because really, he’s the best shot of all of them, besides maybe Ray. 

“Thanks,” Frank beams, sticking out his tongue. “Poison radioed. Said we should meet him and Jet on the outskirts of this fucking ghost town. Said they should be done by the time we get there.” 

Mikey brushes some of the dust off of his bright red jacket, turned grey from the ashes he’s been fighting in all day. 

“Let’s roll, man.”  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The meeting place turns out to be a dry, dead field in the middle of nowhere- even by zone standards. Frank and Mikey sit just in front of it for a while before Gerard and Ray come running up. 

“How’d it go, guys?” Gerard pants, hunching over to catch his breath. 

“Pretty decent,” Frank nods, “Got all the Dracs. No Scarecrows though. You get any?”

“We got so fucking many!” Gerard grumbles, “Man, they were everywhere!”

“We got them all though,” Ray adds, “Well, almost all of them.”

Mikey raises an eyebrow.

“Almost?”

“Korse.” Ray explains gravely. 

“No shit! He was actually there?”

“Yep,” Gerard sighs, “With this other woman too. Seemed like she was pretty high up. All official and stuff.” 

“So why didn’t you ghost them?” Mikey teases. 

“It was let them go or they dust me! Jet did what he had to.”

“What about the woman?” Frank asks, “Who was she?”

“No clue” Gerard admits, sitting down on the dry, shriveled grass. 

“Maybe she’s replacing Korse,” Mikey jokes, “Maybe we caused him so much psychological damage that he had to retire.”

Gerard barks out a laugh.

“That’ll be the day! But seriously, Kid, you better hope not.” 

“She’s that bad?”

“She’s fucking creepy. I’d rather hang out with Korse in a torture chamber than spend ten minutes with her!” Mikey swears he can see his brother shiver a little. It looks hilarious in contrast with his intimidating mask and jacket, raygun haphazardly shoved into its holster. 

They all laugh, and Mikey can feel the stress and tension of the day leaching out of them, dissolving into the cool dusk air, floating up into the atmosphere to be diluted. 

“We should get going,” Ray finally says as a curtain of darkness begins to fall around them. “We should be able to get to the car through this field... It’ll be the shortest way!” he adds at their hesitant looks. But they all trust Ray- he’s the map guy, he knows what he’s doing- and they stretch their aching limbs before slowly starting to walk.

After about fifteen minutes, Mikey suddenly hears a dull thud, followed by a whiny:

“Ah, shit!” which can only be Frank. 

Mikey giggles and walks over to help his friend up. 

“You trip over your feet again, Ghoul?” 

“Shut the fuck up!” Frank says, brushing himself off. “There’s something on the ground. I couldn’t see, it’s dark!” 

Mikey _hmm_ s, and leans down to investigate. In the fading light he can just make out a large black object. He rolls it over, and can’t help but let out a little shriek. 

Death isn’t really something that fazes him anymore. Sure, it sucks, but he’s seen so much of it, not just in the zones but in New Jersey too, and then later in Battery City, not to mention how much of it he’s caused. But this… this is different. 

The black object is actually, Mikey realises, the small, cold figure of a child. A dead child. She’s bundled in all black: black shirt, black vest, black cap. Tentatively, he reaches out to brush her curls off of her tanned face. 

“What the shit…” Frank mutters, coming over and crouching down next to Mikey. A minute ago they were all laughing and celebrating their victory. Now, Mikey just feels nauseous. 

“What went _on_ out here?” he whispers, horrified that BLI could do this. He notices a glint of silver against the folds of the girl’s vest, and reaches for it. Dog tags. He gently removes them from her neck and inspects them.

The tarnished metal has a faded mousekat painted on one side, and the Better Living Industries logo stamped onto the other, as well as another logo that Mikey hasn’t seen before. It looks a little like a musical note, he thinks, and then he makes the connection. _The Music Defence Unit. They must have been here too!_ Heart sinking, he considers the possibility that other bodies could be lying in the dark field. The bodies of Young Blood. Of Pete. He shivers and stuffs the dog tags in his pocket. His brother will want to see them. 

“Wait for me,” he tells Frank. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Okay. I’m gonna radio Jet and tell him they should just pick us up here, anyway. We’ll never catch up to them.” 

Mikey nods and pulls his lighter out of his jacket pocket. Flames leap up as he flicks it on. It’s only a dim glow, but it’s enough light that he can make out any large objects. Anything body-sized, at least. He scans the area until his eye hits something crumpled on the ground. He starts to walk closer, and his heart pounds as he thinks _not Pete, please not Pete_. He feels so, so guilty at the relief he feels when he catches a glimpse of dark skin. He knows he should feel bad for whoever it is, but he can’t help it. None of the members of Young Blood have that dark of a complexion, and he just needs them to be safe right now- well, as safe as possible. For Pete’s sake, as well as his own. 

He keeps going, though. The need to investigate is still strong- he is a Killjoy after all, and a Way. Besides, this guy might be working for BLI and have some clues. Or he might be an ally to Young Blood. Either way, Mikey needs all the information he can get if he’s going to help his friends. Which he _is_ going to do. 

He starts to notice the scattered parts of a half smashed, retro looking boombox as he walks. He remembers passing it a few minutes ago, and now he can feel its parts crushing under his weight as he crunches over them. It’s sickening, and it only confirms that the MDU had been the cause of this. 

As he approaches the dead man, he shudders. Up close, he can smell the rusty scent of clotted blood, and as hardened as he is, he gags when he see’s that the man’s head has been chopped off. A bloody axe lays beside the severed head. 

Mikey takes deep breaths as he forces himself to look. Insects are crawling around the body, feasting off it. A maggot crawls out of the man’s blood caked lips, and Mikey almost screams. He has to look away, and he turns his attention to the man’s decapitated body, avoiding looking anywhere near the neck. There’s no dog tags, which means he’s probably not with BLI. On closer inspection, Mikey sees a small patch with a logo on it sewn to his shirt. He peers at it closely, and then closes his eyes and mourns for his friend’s loss. The logo is a trapezoid under a crown. The same one that was on the flyer. That was at the concert. That all of Pete’s guys wore on their jackets. This can’t be good.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

ZONE 6 // JUNE 22nd // 1000 HOURS

"This is disturbing as shit," Gerard murmurs as he turns the dog tags over in his hands. "These were on a kid?" 

Mikey nods. 

"Yeah. You see, Poison? These guys are bad. Like, really bad. Worse than Korse, even. We need to do something about it." 

Gerard laughs and hands the tags back to Mikey, giving his attention back to his can of Power Pup. 

"It's not really worse than the Dracs," he says thoughtfully. "I mean- it's terrible, of course, but it's the same thing. That's what they do, Kid. They're monsters, the citizens are just pawns to them. I don't see why they would use kids any differently." 

Mikey looks at his brother in horror. When he'd found out this sickening new information, he'd thought for sure it would change Gee's mind. That it would make him see how horrible the Music Defence Unit was, that it was worth going after. They were using _kids_ , after all! 

"You've changed, Poison." He says, face hardened. 

"I change with the times," Gerard shrugs. "Look, it's not that I don't care about you," he continues after a moment, a little gentler. "It's just that it would be impossible to justify. Dr D would be at my throat! You know that." 

It's silent for a while, both men trying to force mushy spoonfuls of Power Pup into their mouths. Mikey feels lost. Fresh out of ideas. Good thing he has a plan B. 

"Pete is the best friend I've ever had." he finally sighs, pushing his can away. "I just want you to know that." 

"You talked to him for like, two hours," Gerard scoffs. 

"Doesn't matter, I know he is, and that he feels the same way. And I want you to know that I get that you can't go rescue him. So whatever." 

Gerard eyes him suspiciously. 

"You're just going to... Drop it?"

"Guess I have to." Mikey sighs as he slides out of the booth. He’s being overdramatic, he knows, but sometimes he can’t help it. His brother is a pain in the ass. 

Gerard shakes his head.

"Don't do anything stupid, Kobra." 

"Not going to." 

He storms off before his brother can respond.  
................................................................................................................................................................................................

ZONE 6 // JUNE 23rd // 0200 HOURS

Crickets are chirping in the dark night, and Mikey lies in his bed, eyes squeezed closed, waiting. Soon, he hears his brother's soft snores filling the kitchen. Luckily, Gerard is a heavy sleeper. 

He waits until he's sure that both Ray and his brother are asleep before crawling out of bed. He went to bed in his clothes, knowing the guys would just pass it off as exhaustion, so all he has to do is shove a few clothes and supplies in his small backpack. Then, he creeps out of the kitchen and into the main area of the diner. 

He struggles to make out the features of the dim room, careful not to trip over anything. Slowly, he makes his way to the back door, behind the stacks of empty supply boxes and grimy sink. This door is farther from his bike, but the front door has chimes that will alert the others. Besides, he knows Frank will be there on guard duty. 

He slips out the door as quietly as he can and sneaks across the sand. He stills every time he hears a noise, listening for Frank. The cars are only a few feet from the diner, but Mikey's so cautious that it takes almost half an hour to get there. He really doesn't want to attract Frank's attention. 

Climbing onto the seat of his motorcycle, he revs the engine and speeds off, disregarding the noise. Frank will definitely notice, but that's okay. As long as Mikey is out of range before Frank can cause a scene, everything should work out fine. He has it all worked out so the guys won't be able to stop him.  
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

ZONE 6 // JUNE 23rd // 1800 HOURS

Static fills the quiet desert air as Mikey, radio transmitter go off. Again. He sighs, expecting to be hot with another litany of yelling and ranting. 

Still, he winces at the loud "Kobra Kid, you get your fucking dumb ass back here or I swear to god," 

Gerard's yelling is periodically cut off by sobs, so he's probably more worried than angry, but Mikey steels himself. Pressing the 'silence' button, he pushes his brother's tortured voice out of his head. Giving in isn't something he plans to do right now. Whether the guys like it or not, he's going to stop the Music Defence Unit. He's going to rescue Pete. 

An hour later he stops at a Dead Pegasus station. He's hasn't even left the zone yet, and he doesn't really want to stop, but he knows that if he doesn't refuel he'll get stranded in the middle of nowhere. After the way he left the guys, he isn't sure that they'd come to help him.

He counts the carbons he managed to take from around the diner, from places where they wouldn't be missed. There's a little over thirty, and it should be enough to last him a few weeks if he's careful. 

He sticks the gas pump into his bike and leans against a post while he waits. Just as he hears the tell-tale click that means his bike is fully fuelled, his radio hums to life again. He should just tune it to a different frequency, he knows, but he can't stand the thought of leaving the guys all together. They're his family, after all. He'll take his brother's yelling over cutting off all contact any day. Besides, he knows he kind of deserves it. 

It isn't Gerard, though. Instead it's a muffled, panicked voice that makes Mikey's stomach churn. 

"Mikey? Mikey?" the voice keeps cutting I and out and he can hear pounding footsteps in the background. 

"Mikey! I got... Frequency from... He's an ally."

Before Mikey can even completely register what's going on, he's pressing 'talk' and yelling "Pete? Pete, are you there?" frantically into the speaker. 

"I'm here. I wanted to tell you to watch out. Don't go... shows. They're raiding... Kidnapping people."

"Pete. Pete, I'm coming to get you guys. Are you okay?"

There's a sharp laugh on the other end, sarcastic, but still cute in a way that only Pete can manage. 

"For now. They have us, but we're working on it. I got one of their radios. It might be bugged... Careful."

"Where are you?"

"Don't... Dangerous. Too risky. I love you too much." 

That does it. Hot tears stream down his cheeks with Pete's words. 

"I love you too," he chokes out, "And that's why I need to come."

"No!" 

At first Mikey thinks it's directed at him, and is ready to retaliate, to tell Pete that nothing he can say will change his mind. He wishes it was directed at him, because in one sickening moment he hears a single cry- Pete's cry- and realises that it's not. 

There's a buzzy clunk as Pete's stolen radio hits the ground, and then it's silent. Mikey struggles to calm himself enough to go pay for his gas and get out of here. There's no time to waste. 

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

ZONE 5 // JUNE 25th // 1200 HOURS

The shop’s door slams shut behind Mikey, only adding to it’s creepy, horror movie appearance. It’s a small, ratty little place, but it’s the only store Mikey’s seen for miles, and he’s starving. He couldn’t bring himself to take food, the guy’s most precious resource. so he hasn’t eaten since dinner yesterday. Or maybe it was two days ago. He isn’t sure. 

His stomach growls, chewing at itself as he walks around apprehensively, trying his best to look like he belongs here. There’s a gruff looking bearded man behind the counter who’s having a quiet conversation with a not-so menacing guy with glasses and a pierced ear. Mikey tries to stay out of their way; he doesn’t know whether or not they’ll be trouble. 

Still, he’s curious, and he strains to hear their words. 

“They’re causing a lot of trouble.” earring is saying. “Zone three is in total chaos. I had to come out here to avoid them.”

“That’s a shame. I liked those guys they took. Blood something.” 

That gets Mikey’s attention, and out of the corner of his eye he sees earring nod sadly. 

“They’re good guys. I might go out there and see what I can do for them in a while, once things have settled a bit. They’re doing some crazy shit though, let me tell you. Experimental stuff, from what my sources tell me.” 

Abandoning all thoughts of staying neutral and unnoticed, Mikey quickly grabs a few cans of soup and a package of dried meat, and heads for the counter. 

The gruff guy gives him just the slightest hint of a smile, and earring just stares at him. 

“You from around here, Kid?” 

It takes Mikey a minute to realize that they guy doesn’t actually know who he is, and that the nickname is just a coincidence. He exhales roughly, shock settling down. 

“No. Not really. Out from six.”

The man nods, picking up each of Mikey’s items and putting them in a crudely made paper bag. 

“Thought so. Six carbons, man.” 

Mikey hands over the money and takes his bag with a small nod. It doesn’t slip his notice that earring is still staring holes in him, making him slightly uncomfortable. He doesn’t say anything though, hurries out of there as fast as he can. 

Just as he mounts his motorcycle, he sees Earing sprinting towards him. 

“Hey! Hey, wait up would ya?”

Mikey holds back, the slouch of his shoulders just a little defensive, and lets the guy approach. He’s panting by the time he gets to where Mikey is, although he doesn’t look too out of shape. Just old- for a rebel, at least. He regards Mikey with a sad, exhausted look, and it makes him almost as sad as it does nervous. 

“You’re a Killjoy, right?” Earring asks, pointing to Mikey’s jacket. 

“Yeah. You’re a… you’re a rebel, yeah?” He really isn’t in the mood to get kidnapped by BLI. The man just chuckles.

“You could say that. Especially with the new regulations going around.” 

Something clicks into place in Mikey’s head. 

“Oh. You’re a musician.” 

“Yes sir,.” he extends his hand. “Elton. You?”

“Uh… Kobra.” He shakes Elton’s hand, feeling somehow safer. 

“Ah. I thought so. Wentz told me all about you.” 

It’s kind of embarrassing how much Mikey’s face lights up. 

“Pete? Pete Wentz? From Young Blood? You’ve heard from him?”

“Not recently, no.” Elton shakes his head. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He motions towards his own motorcycle, and Mikey can’t help but go along.


End file.
